Chapter Thirty #2
‘With your ankle? It’ll be real long. I can carry you.’
‘I can walk,’ she snapped, even if she had to lean heavier into his side. His arm around her was steady, his body heat comforting.
She tried to focus on that, to try and smother the gnawing load of fear curling in her gut.
‘Did Siri really plan to leave us out here to…?’ Die. The word dried up like the dust at her feet.
‘Y’know, it’s not a bad murder plan.’
She shot him a scowl. ‘Don’t sound so happy about it.’
He matched her frown. ‘I’m not. But think about it. If they found us in that car—buried under all that dust, with no radio or a satphone—they’d reckon we were just another pair of fools who didn’t read the road signs. Unprepared city idiots who’d wandered too far off-road.’
His boots crunched steadily beside her awkward limp.
‘Wouldn’t look like murder, then,’ he said with his voice dipping low. ‘It’d be just another cruel outback death. The kind that happens to stockmen and tourists alike. No violence. Just the land taking its due.’
She swallowed hard, feeling the grit settle in her raw throat. ‘You’re really selling the romance of the Territory tonight, Porter.’
He grunted. ‘Maybe next time, pick a date spot that’s not on the Top Ten Ways to Die Horribly in the Bush list.’
‘I didn’t know that bulldust could be like quicksand.’
‘It’s not normally that deep. Which is why I think Siri set us up.’
‘So, it’s not all my fault, then. Driving out here without the right equipment, no backup, no plan. I can just hear Finn’s lecture now.’
‘For good reason, Montrose. They care about you.’
‘The team—’
‘You don’t get it, do you? Team out here is just another word for family. We’re a small but tight community in a part of the outback where we’re outnumbered by the cattle and crocodiles. Here, the wilderness is not only our greatest ally, but she’s also our biggest enemy, too.’ He was mad now.
She’d done that.
She’d been the silly one. Pushing people away. Holding too tight with her need to have control, thinking all her rules would protect her.
Instead, she’d built her own personal prison.
‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured, the words thick in her throat.
‘Yeah. Me, too.’ Porter stopped walking. ‘So enough of this.’ He crouched over, swiftly scooping her up, setting her down on a flat rock.
‘What are you doing?’ Her hands gripped his shoulders to get her balance as the pain radiated up her leg, along with the heated throb in her ankle—all of it excruciating. She grimaced, biting her lip to not cry out.
‘You’re climbing on my back.’ He loosened his necktie and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, then wrapped the ripped coat around his waist. ‘Let’s go. Hop on.’
‘But—’
‘We’ll never make it to the waterhole by sunrise at this pace. And by then, we’ll need water just to survive the next stretch.’
‘How far is the waterhole?’
‘Five clicks. From there, I know where the road leads. I’ve used it a few times hunting.’
‘Will that be the road home?’
‘It’s the closest wallaby track that heads for town. With luck, if we hit the waterhole by dawn, we can then hit that main road by mid-afternoon. Surely someone travelling back from the ball or doing a supply run will spot us.’
Amara glanced around. The scrub stretched out in every direction, flat and dry. No fences. No gates. Just endless bush. ‘How big is Dixby Downs station?’
‘Big enough that you can walk for a day and not hit the boundary fence.’ He sighed as he glanced around them, then up at the night sky. ‘Most of it’ll be in open country. Which means—’
‘No shade,’ she finished for him.
Porter nodded. ‘But it also means if Finn sends out a search party…’
‘Stone will be in the chopper.’ The hope flickered inside. ‘If it’s open country, we’ll be easy to spot.’
Porter gave a dry laugh. ‘Not that easy, Montrose. We’ve got red dust, scrub, tree silhouettes, and the heat shimmer, all doing their best to grab their attention.’
‘Got any bright ideas how we can attract Stone’s attention in the air?’
Porter nodded at her ballgown, no longer pale blue but stained every shade of outback red. ‘You’ve still got those diamantes on that thing.’
She squinted at him, pretty sure the dust had clogged up his brain. ‘What?’
‘The sparkly bits.’ He gestured at the filthy fabric effectively hiding her shoes and swollen ankle, like this was a perfectly normal conversation to have when stranded in the scrub while wearing a ballgown.
‘The light catches them. Even in low sun, they’ll flash like a mirror.’ That grin of his surfaced again—lazy, lopsided—most of all it held hope. ‘It might be the only thing that gets us seen.’
She stared at the crumpled mess of a dress. ‘You want me to—what? Wave it around like a signal flag?’
‘Could work.’ Porter nodded, all serious, too. ‘It’d be that damsel in distress, outback edition. Throw in a fainting spell, and we’ll have a chopper here in no time.’ He even clicked his fingers.
She straightened out the long skirt, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her play along. But damn if the plan didn’t make sense.
And damn him more for knowing it.
‘Until then, I’m not letting you ruin that ballgown,’ he said softly.
‘Right, damsel in distress rescue beacon, coming right up.’ She fluffed up the layers, the dust coming off them in waves.
It made Porter step away, leaving her perched on a rock, like some dust-caked scrub fairy who’d well and truly missed her bush ball.
‘And look…’ He paused, exhaling heavily. ‘I should’ve said it sooner, but I didn’t think you wanted to hear it before.’
‘Hear what? I remember your rule: must actually listen.’ Not that she remembered what number rule it was, but she’d hoped the joke would lighten the tension between them.
Yet, the way he looked at her—no one had ever looked at her like that, as if they truly could see beneath her dusty mask.
‘You looked truly beautiful tonight. Even if it wasn’t a date…
I’d never been prouder to be seen with a woman like you on my arm.
’ His voice dropped, roughening a little as if filled with grit and pure emotion.
‘So… thank you for that small gift of letting this blue-collar bloke get a glimpse of your world.’ He shrugged, barely.
‘Just so you know, you’ve always looked beautiful to me, even without the flashy gown. ’
Her heart caught somewhere behind her ribs.
She wasn’t used to hearing anyone speak about her like that. Especially words from someone who saw past the polish, past the rules, and still meant every word he’d said.
She opened her mouth. Closed it again.
The sweep of emotion hit hard and tender and yet it was terrifying, like she’d just stepped off a ledge. She wanted to hug him, to have him hold her. Just once.
But if she moved from this rock, she’d fall.
‘You didn’t look so bad yourself,’ she mumbled. ‘Even in that ugly tie.’
His chuckle was low.
‘Now c’mon. We’ve got a long walk and a sunrise coming.’ He turned around, stepping back to her. ‘Up you get.’
She sighed, gathering up the many layers of her gown, then climbed onto his back, wrapping her arms around his strong shoulders, allowing Porter to carry the burden—not just that of the trek ahead, but of the mistake she’d made that got them here.